the show must go on
by belle parole
Summary: harry, and after the war


_for the holyhead harpies, r9, seeker, write a song inspired by The Show Must Go On by queen, using the line "But my smile still stays on" (changed 'my' to 'his')_

_1195 words by google docs_

_tw for panic attacks_

* * *

After the war, _The Daily Prophet_ asks Harry for an interview, and he hesitantly says yes. He's wary of the interview before it's even scheduled, due to all of his past experiences, but he says yes because he knows people want to hear from him after such an affair.

"Great!" the _Prophet_ reporter says, giving Harry a smile that's too cheery for them _literally_ standing in the rubble of Hogwarts' battle that _literally_ ended an hour ago. "We'll send you an owl!"

Harry nods and walks away, and starts making towards Gryffindor tower again. He needs a nap.

…

The _Prophet_'s owl comes the next morning, tapping on the window of the Gryffindor's dormitory. Harry groans, throwing up his hand to shield his eyes from the sunlight. When the owl keeps on tapping, Harry gets up.

Ron's also in the dormitory, sleeping peacefully in his bed. Harry doesn't know where their other three roommates are, but he's pretty sure he would've heard if they —

Trying not to think about _that_ possibility, Harry opens the window to let the owl in. It's a tawny one, standing proud and tall, and it sticks its leg on out the windowsill for Harry to untie the letter. Harry does, and the owl flies right back out of the window.

Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, Harry unscrolls the parchment and grabs his glasses to read it.

_Mr. Potter — _it reads.

_We at the Daily Prophet are overjoyed that you've accepted to do an interview with us about the recent battle with You-Know-Who. Congratulations on your victory. Please meet us at our headquarters for your interview on May the fifth, at eight o'clock in the morning. Thank you!_

In lieu of a signature, there's an address of the _Prophet_'s headquarters. Harry reads the letter again, and his stomach drops when he notes the date. The fifth of May, Harry realizes, is just two days away. On the one hand, he's not likely to forget about anything they question him about, but on the other, it feels too soon.

Sitting down on his bed, Harry feels his throat tightening. He blinks, and all he can picture is all of the bodies laying down in the Great Hall, so many eyes staring, unseeing. He tries to take breaths, but they feel constricted, and he can't breathe. It feels like he's drowning.

He considers grabbing a quill and some parchment to write back to reschedule the date, but before he can move, Ron stirs. Harry forces himself to clear his throat, and he brushes off lint from his t-shirt, straightening up as Ron blinks away.

"Hello," Harry says, as Ron looks around and catches his eyes.

"Watching me sleep?" Ron asks, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.

"Of course not, mate," Harry says, also trying to fall back into just joking with his best friend. "You're too ugly for that."

Ron laughs, but it comes out wrong, like he's forcing it. Harry gets it.

"What's that?" Ron asks, gesturing toward the letter in Harry's hands.

"Oh, just —" Harry waves his hand, brushing the question off. "Just confirmation on an interview I'm doing for the _Prophet_. About the battle."

Ron gives him a strange look and makes an almost tsking noise. "Are you sure it's not too soon after it for that?" Harry thinks briefly, in the back of his head, that you could compare Ron to Molly at this moment.

"No, I'm fine," Harry says with another wave of his hand.

And if Ron gives him another weird look for saying that, so be it.

Besides, Harry can breathe _fine_ now. He'll be okay.

…

Harry wakes up early on the day of his interview with the _Prophet_. For the past couple of days, he's been living in Burrow. For the most part, he's been sleeping, eating the food Molly pushes at him, and attending funerals at every hour. The funerals are painful. He's cried at everyone, in the back and silent, and he feels like _he_ is the one responsible for the deaths. The deceased were all fighting for him, after all.

They hurt even more when it's someone he knows — Fred, Remus, Tonks, even little Colin Creevy, who was too young to be fighting, who Harry should've made more of an effort to know.

And yet, on the morning of the fifth of May, Harry gets up. He manages to wash his face without breaking down, but as he passes by Fred and George's old room, he can hear George in there, quietly crying.

The soft noise bites at Harry's heart, and he can feel tears pricking at the back of his eyes. He blinks them away and walks out of the Burrow to apparate to his interview.

When he appears at the headquarters, he's struck with the rush that usually comes with Apparition, but he's also struck with the memories of being on the run with Ron and Hermione from so many months. The memories aren't _old_, but they still crawl up his throat and suffocate him. Blinking hard, he pushes them down and enters the building.

Within twenty minutes, he's situated in a room, and a reporter — that's not Rita Skeeter, fortunately, but just as blond — is sitting across from him, smiling at him. Harry forces himself to smile back.

She introduces herself, but her name goes out of Harry's head as soon as he hears it. She goes on to ask him general questions, like _What is it like to be Harry Potter_? Harry answers half on auto-pilot, glancing at the clock and wondering when he'll get to leave.

He jolts back up to focus when the interviewer asks, "And do you have any advice on how to deal with the aftermath of this Wizarding War?" she asks, smiling at Harry sweetly.

Harry feels bile creep up his throat. He can feel his happy facade breaking, but his smile still stays on. He can't let the entire Wizarding World know that _he doesn't know how to deal with the aftermath_.

Instead of telling the interviewer that, he forces himself to breathe slowly and says, "Well, I just think that you need to keep your loved ones close."

The interview nods, accepting that question, and Harry breathes again.

"And one last question Mr. Potter," the interview asks, her perky smile still on her face. "What do you have to say to all of the of the families of people who died for you?"

The guilt and the sorrow and the grief come back full-storm, and he panics. He can't put back on a mask of happiness.

Instead, Harry full-on panics, and he thinks he excuses himself before racing out of the _Prophet_ headquarters. He's barely aware of himself Apparating back to the Burrow, but he throws open the door. Molly's standing there, making breakfast, and his panic must be obvious on his face. She comes over to him and he falls into her arms.

He's not okay. He doesn't know when he'll be okay, but he knows, in Molly's arms, that he'll have support until he is.

And maybe that's okay.


End file.
